


the old brag of my heart

by kruspp



Series: as time goes by [1]
Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: 1940s understanding of mental health, Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - World War II, Angst, Forbidden Love, Friends to Lovers, It Gets Worse Before It Gets Better, M/M, Period-Typical Homophobia, Period-Typical Racism, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, because war sucks ass, like a lot, my history teacher would crucify me probably smh, probs not the most historically accurate but its for the story, talking about mental health
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-24
Updated: 2020-05-25
Packaged: 2021-03-02 23:33:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,037
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24365104
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kruspp/pseuds/kruspp
Summary: It is 1939.Feliciano Vargas is well on his way to fame as a recent hire at a respectable opera house in Rome. His older brother, Lovino, is a rising journalist and his grandfather is a deeply honoured war hero peacefully living out his retirement with his grandsons. They have everything they could ask for, and more.And then Germany invades Poland, sparking a trail of events that turn Feliciano's life upside down as he's drafted into Italy's army to fight in Europe alongside the Nazis. He's never held a gun before-let alone killed a man. But he has no choice, and as he faces the terrifying days ahead, he meets the serious but kind German soldier, Ludwig Beilschmidt, who is as confusing as he is enchanting. They become close in the volatile environment of war, and as Feliciano suddenly finds himself navigating a romance that was never meant to exist, he begins to wonder what truly is the right thing-and why it is so difficult to figure out what that was.Feliciano yearns to return home, to foster the unexpected love he found, to bite into a fresh tomato again-but first, he has to survive.
Relationships: Germany/North Italy (Hetalia), Minor or Background Relationship(s), South Italy/Spain (Hetalia)
Series: as time goes by [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1759171
Comments: 2
Kudos: 6





	the old brag of my heart

**Author's Note:**

> Sup! This is actually a rewrite of my previous story which was titled "The Brag of My Heart". I felt that I had both improved my writing ad become more confident, so here I am. Take two. Hopefully this time will go a lot better, given that I have more time to write because of quarantine and summer break. Truly a double edged sword, that one. I really hope y'all enjoy my ramblings, and please excuse my historical inaccuracies! I might have to bend some facts for story purposes, so please note I'm not trying to spread misinformation. Also, this is just the prologue, which is why it's so short. The actual chapters are going to be much longer. Okay, thanks for reading!
> 
> With love and tomatoes,  
> kruspp

_ May, 1945 _

________

Feliciano supposes that they should have seen this coming, in hindsight. 

Feliciano supposes a lot of things.

He sighs as he sinks deeper into the cushioned chair, ignoring the ache in his knee as he leans his head on his hand as he looks outside into the little garden that bordered his stone house. Tall tomato vines twisted towards the sky, clinging to their worn trellises, fruits barely larger than a rubber ball weighing down thin green branches. A couple were starting to yellow as they transitioned into their iconic crimson, the dew sparkling off their smooth skins in the soft Italian morning sun. Feliciano, at the back of his mind, thinks that maybe he should be thinking something nice, something  _ normal _ and  _ happy  _ and  _ not at all depressing _ , like “ _ what a beautiful morning this is”  _ or “ _ what a good harvest we're going to have”  _ but he can’t quite bring himself to do so.

He wants to. He has no reason to be so sad. 

It was spring. 

Life was beginning again.

He was at the house he grew up in, his grandfather was in the living room in the next room over, his brother was probably in his room and he soon was going to have a fresh batch of tomatoes to make the pasta sauce he so dearly loved. 

And Germany had just surrendered to the Allied powers after a bloody six year war that had seemed to consume the world and all of time. 

Feliciano shudders, despite the amiable ray of sun that was making a respectable attempt to warm his cold form. Occasionally, but not often—no he doesn’t think he’d still be sane if he thought about it often—Feliciano wonders what would have happened if Benito Mussolini never came into power. 

What had they been hoping for anyway, with a man like Benito Mussolini at the head of Italy? To be like their Roman ancestors? Return to the glory enjoyed by Caesar? That was foolish--stupid really. 

And besides, they had paid the price. 

Feliciano’s knee twinges. 

_ \--Blue, blue eyes losing their light, their life--where are the medics? He needs help, help, help him please, I surrender-- _

“Feli? What the fuck are you just sitting there for? I thought you were going to weed the garden,” comes a low, gruff voice behind him, and Feliciano whips around, hand clutching at his hip for a gun that isn’t there. Muscles tense in preparation for a fight, heart racing as he tries to identify the biggest immediate threat to his life. 

_ \--The door is blocked by the enemy, he cannot escape there--the window is his best bet--survive, he needs to survive, survive, survive-- _

Feliciano freezes at the sight of his older brother. “Oh, it’s just you,” he breathes, relief flooding him.

Lovino stops at the door frame. There is an empty cloth satchel around his shoulder. His calloused fingertips play with a frayed string. “Sorry,” he says, his amber eyes avoiding his brother’s. “I keep forgetting to warn you.” 

Sickly shame quickly replaces the relief within Feliciano. “No, no it’s not your fault Lovino.” He picks at his sleeve. “I know need to get better, I can’t keep—”

“Shut up.”

“W-what?”

“Shut up if you’re going to blame yourself,” Lovino says, his dark brows settling into a deeper version of his usual glare. Feliciano shrinks a little under that stare. This is likely the fifth time Feliciano has been scolded for this in the past two days. Feliciano’s heart shrivels under the weight of the ugly anger that eats away at himself. Because he should be better. He hadn’t been in active danger in a good two years, at this point. Why was he still so on edge?

“I can hear your thoughts from here, little brother.”

Feliciano holds his breath like that would stop the sound of his thoughts. There's a pause that’s not entirely comfortable. 

Lovino sighs, weariness obvious in his voice. “For fucks sake, you were in a war Feli,” he says finally, scratching at the long white scar on the right side of his face. “I can understand if you’re jumpy around me--hell, jumpy around _ people _ .”

“Oh,” is all Feliciano can say. Is all he ever says, to that argument. He’d tried bringing up that Lovino had also been in a war--the story of the scar marring his brother’s face haunted Feliciano endlessly--but Lovino had shut him down quickly and ruthlessly, looking him dead in the eye and saying (growling, really) that _ “I had a choice, dumbass. You didn’t” _ . 

Which. As much as Feliciano protested against it, was true. 

It had been a day much like this one, if Feliciano remembered correctly, when he’d received his draft notice. Although it had been the summer giving away to the chill of the fall, not the cold of winter fading by the gentle warmth of spring.

How funny was it that a slip of paper derailed his entire life?

Well, now that he thought about it, it wasn't all that funny. Maybe it was only funny in his mind. Maybe it wasn't funny at all. 

Vaguely, somewhere in the distance, he hears when Lovino gives another tired sigh before grumbling something about going down to the market--to get bread or pasta or some item of food that Feliciano would force himself to eat and those cannolis that their grandfather loved so much and seemed so convinced would put a smile on his youngest grandson’s face again. Feliciano thinks he mumbles a goodbye to Lovino as the other left the room. Maybe he asks Lovino to say hello to Antonio on his behalf. Maybe he asks for one of Miss Elizaveta’s loaves of bread. Maybe he asks his brother to check if Mr.  Edelstein wrote back yet. Feliciano just can’t be sure. 

He looks out of the window into the garden again, eyes becoming unfocused. The memories rise to the surface as they usually do, first slowly and then like a freight train. They mercilessly take his vision from him, blocking out the world until Feliciano is no longer in the safety of his childhood home, and no longer living in 1945.

  
  



End file.
